Epilogue
Ezra
The sun is low as it sets over the Californian mountains.
I hear an eagle cry—its call echoes, reaching us in this tiny park.
The air is warm. Light filters through the foliage of the towering evergreen trees, drifting between the exposed gaps of the gazebo.
Atlas kicks his feet back and forth as he lies on his stomach.
He simultaneously reads while grading his students’ math work.
Conin jots ideas down in a notebook—his college essay, which I have high hopes he’ll ace.
I’ve stopped playing the strings of my violin.
Instead, I lie on my back and gaze at the ceiling.
I raise my hand, catching the light, feeling its warmth, watching dust motes dance.
They look like ash—their taste sooty on my tongue.
I wish that every day could be like this one. What we have now is good, so good.
A grape hits my cheek and bounces away. I squint, rub the skin, and turn to see Atlas giggling without remorse. Conin chuckles but notes several more ideas on the lined paper. I grab the grape and chuck it at him. Atlas curls into a ball of laughter. I smile because I simply cannot help it.
“Hey! I wasn’t the instigator!” Conin protests.
“Yes, but you aren’t supposed to take his side!”
He grins and shakes it off. I groan and roll to Atlas. He strokes my hair with careful fingers. We lie here a long time in comfortable solitude, the sounds of Conin’s pen and the flipping of paper carrying to us. I don’t care. All I care about is that I’m here with them.
“What are you thinking about?” Atlas asks, quietly.
Conin has a subtle smile on his face as he flips another page. He’ll get those scholarships, I know it. He’ll be the best goddamn quarterback any university has ever seen.
“Just . . . how grateful I am.”
Hues of yellow and orange stretch above, and the sun leaves and dives below the mountains. Conin’s glued to my hip, our worries fading in the dark. Atlas’s head rests on my shoulder, a silent thrum escaping his mouth.
Conin’s eyes find me. An understanding passes between us. I don’t need to say anything more. He nods because he knows, too. He knows what I’m thinking. And frankly, he always has. He always will.
I’m grateful he brought us here. I’m grateful he ushered me out that door.
He came along with me, and he didn’t look back, not after losing the life he made for himself, not after missing his mom, not after all the danger he and I went through together.
Before, I would have given up. He didn’t.
Not once. Atlas is in our lives because of his bravery. We have a life worth living.
And even though it’s our inseparable trio now, at one point, it was just Conin and me. I wouldn’t trade our relationship with Atlas for anything, but I also cannot deny the history I have with Conin.
There was a time during my and Conin’s middle school years when Lukeman Gray abused me for the first time over some petty argument.
Thax had learned new tricks with his freshly serrated blade—cruel strokes to the arms. His relationship with Lukeman was as unhealthy as mine, and he always took his spite out on his younger brother.
In my loneliness and hurt, I sought the refuge of Conin, who was unfamiliar with the troubles happening at home.
But . . . I had no home with the people who claimed to be my parents.
Home was where Conin was. And to Conin, I went.
“Ezra, dear. What’s wrong?” his mom had answered. The door parted and there he was. He lies on the couch and looks at me. Tears are falling before I can do anything to suppress them.
“Oh, dear. Come in, love,” she says.
Conin takes my hand and leads the way to his room.
He shuts the door, joining me on the bed.
Without hesitation, he tells me to lie beside him.
Reluctant, I do. He wraps a tentative arm around my shoulders and pulls me in tight.
We’ve never done this before, but it feels nice.
There’s an awkward tension at first, though even that disappears.
“Want to tell me about it?” Conin asks.
“Not right now,” I say, but I will. I’ll open up and Conin will listen. He will say that he plans to protect me and that nothing bad will ever happen to me. I can come and escape into his corner of the world whenever I need to.
I didn’t realize it then, but that was the night I fell in love with Conin. Soon, we were under the blankets, on that tiny bed, us two, and the warmth of our bodies.
“You’re safe here,” he said.
I believed him.
There’s the steadfast song of birds.
Forms made of skin and metal press against my own. They don’t leave, they stay. Firm. Diligent. Familiar. It’s dark now. It’s too dark, almost as if I’ve lost the ability to see.
I was always fond of the dark. No one could see me.
No one could judge. Lukeman Gray went to sleep.
Thax escaped reality in the only way he knew how.
And I would run to be alone, but alone with Conin.
He would always make it better. Atlas makes it better, too.
They put me back together, piece by piece.
I carry myself the rest of the way there.
The taste of ash finds me.
I’m falling, falling, falling.
Conin’s hands are on me, Atlas’s too, and they’re traveling over every corner and crevice, searching for the warm, sticky wetness pooled over the concave that is my stomach. I look down and I’m bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.
How unusual.
The world quiets. I hear soft voices, but I don’t fret.
It’s better now, I think.
Better when the sun goes down.
To be continued . . .